Opções
Busca rápida
Hey folks, it’s Karla again! I’m married to a guy who doesn’t know the volcano he’s got. My hubby’s always traveling, barely giving me the wild fun I crave. Three months ago, he had to rush off for work—he’s an IT guy for a state company, fixing messes in person, leaving me high and dry. I drove him to the airport, and just before boarding, his aunt from Barra, Rio, called. Her godmother had just died, leaving her husband—a lazy retiree—alone and sick. She asked if he could stay with us for three days so she wouldn’t worry about his meds. Hubby explained he was leaving but asked for a minute to sort it. He hung up, told me, and though I was annoyed, I offered to take the old man in. He was thrilled, thanking me—he adored this aunt who raised him as a kid. He called her back, boarding, saying I’d pick up her husband straight from the airport.
\nI went to her condo. We rarely saw them—only at my wedding and once in Ipanema. She was a sweet 60-year-old; him, a charming 65-year-old I remembered as fit from beach volleyball, per my husband. She greeted me, upset about the death, worried I’d be burdened. I brushed it off—family’s family. Truth is, with hubby gone, I’d planned some mischief, and an old guy at home would cramp my style. She called him—he came out excited to head to Niterói, raving about Camboinhas’ beach. He hugged me, kissed my cheeks—a lively, athletic guy playing the helpless act for her. She didn’t see it, or maybe she was the old-school wife type. I carried his stuff—a backpack she’d packed—said goodbye, and promised to bring him back after her trip.
\nIn the elevator, he eyed me up and down, then said I looked great, marriage had “filled me out.” I said it was the gym too; he grinned, calling me “hot.” I ignored it. At the car, he opened my door—gentlemanly, but as I sat in my short dress, my legs parted, and he stared right between them till I adjusted. It got me wet instantly, but I pushed the thought away—no way with my husband’s uncle. At home, I set him up in the guest room, unpacking his meds. I spotted Viagra—sly old fox, ready for action. I stashed it quick, pretending I hadn’t seen. Downstairs, my maid said he’d gone for a beach walk, not to worry. It was early, so I slipped into my tiniest bikini, tied a sarong, and went to check on him.
\nFrom above, I saw him chatting up two girls, laughing hard—typical nonsense. I laid my sarong down, sunbathed face-down, glancing at him. Exhausted, I dozed off, waking to him rubbing sunscreen on my back, down to my ass. I jolted; he apologized, saying the sun was harsh and he didn’t want to wake me. I said it was fine, sat up—his bulge in his trunks was obvious. “Damn, this old guy’s packing,” I thought, giggling. He asked why; I brushed it off. He sat beside me, and I wondered—he’s healthier than his wife, playing sick for sympathy. His legs were solid, a firm little belly, tan to envy.
\nWe chatted; I asked about the girls. He smirked, saying it wasn’t for married women. Game on, I thought. I rubbed sunscreen on my legs, slow, sneaking looks—he couldn’t peel his eyes off. I spread them, teasing near my groin; he bolted for a dip. His hard-on strained his trunks—I got wetter, imagining it in my mouth, but shook it off. He’s my husband’s uncle! He stayed in the water long, so I dove in, surfacing near him. As I rose, his cock was out, mid-jerk. I asked if he liked the beach; he said it was great, could get better. I played dumb, but he wanted me. I suggested leaving; he said I could go, he’d follow. I had to pay the maid, so I left, him asking if my tiny bikini and lack of jealousy from my husband didn’t bother me. Wet again, I said I worked hard for this body, and hubby didn’t care. He shook his head: “Young guys don’t appreciate the good stuff.” I shivered, dripping, tempted.
\nBack home, I found Maria, my 28-year-old maid—gorgeous, curvy mulatta. Once, I’d lent her a bikini for our pool; my husband drooled over her ass swallowing it. Jealous then, now I had an idea. I asked her to stay three days to help with his meds and my errands, offering extra pay. She called home—her mom and sister were fine, so she stayed. When he returned, I told him; he insisted she didn’t need to, he’d be fine alone with me. Sure, you sly dog. That night, at 10 PM, he suggested a pool dip. I invited Maria—she hesitated, but I grabbed her a bikini. He wasn’t thrilled—wanted me solo. I wore my skimpiest home bikini; he gawked. Maria’s body shone too. He blurted, “God, I’m in paradise.” We laughed. Pool lights off, he brushed against us diving. Maria teased he swam well for his age, egging him on. He told dirty jokes—I blushed, she roared. Horny, I said I’d sleep; they could stay.
\nI showered, crashed in a towel, woke thirsty at 1:30 AM. In panties and a top, I stumbled downstairs, forgetting them. Mid-stairs, I heard moans—then remembered. Curious, I peeked: him naked on the couch, Maria sucking his massive cock. She struggled with its size. I rubbed myself, crazy with lust. She licked nonstop; he pulled out, they kissed, his hands on her huge ass as she ground against him. He turned her, teased her pussy, then bent her over the sofa, ramming her. She moaned, begging for it all—he delivered. I came hard, watching them finish together. I crept back, jealous.
\nUp at 10 AM, tired and envious—he’d eyed me all day, then fucked Maria. In the kitchen, I asked about the pool—they lied, saying they’d slept soon after me. Liars. It was scorching; I suggested a beach walk. He declined, tired; I knew he wanted Maria alone. I dragged her instead—she resisted, citing lunch, but I said we’d eat out. He jumped in then, not wanting to be solo. At a quiet beach, I wore a slightly bigger bikini. He devoured me with his eyes, bulge growing. Wet again, I lay face-down; he stared at my ass. As he moved for water, I asked him to sunscreen my back. Grinning, he rubbed slow, hands trembling near my ass. I spread my legs; he knelt closer, his hard cock brushing me. I whispered about Maria—he said she’d walked off. “Anyone around?” I asked, lost in lust. “Just us,” he said. His fingers grazed my groin; I arched, shivering. “Karla, you’re delicious—if you weren’t my nephew’s wife…” I teased, “What would you do?” Maria returned, interrupting.
" }Hey folks, it’s Karla again! I’m married to a guy who doesn’t know the volcano he’s got. My hubby’s always traveling, barely giving me the wild fun I crave. Three months ago, he had to rush off for work—he’s an IT guy for a state company, fixing messes in person, leaving me high and dry. I drove him to the airport, and just before boarding, his aunt from Barra, Rio, called. Her godmother had just died, leaving her husband—a lazy retiree—alone and sick. She asked if he could stay with us for three days so she wouldn’t worry about his meds. Hubby explained he was leaving but asked for a minute to sort it. He hung up, told me, and though I was annoyed, I offered to take the old man in. He was thrilled, thanking me—he adored this aunt who raised him as a kid. He called her back, boarding, saying I’d pick up her husband straight from the airport.
I went to her condo. We rarely saw them—only at my wedding and once in Ipanema. She was a sweet 60-year-old; him, a charming 65-year-old I remembered as fit from beach volleyball, per my husband. She greeted me, upset about the death, worried I’d be burdened. I brushed it off—family’s family. Truth is, with hubby gone, I’d planned some mischief, and an old guy at home would cramp my style. She called him—he came out excited to head to Niterói, raving about Camboinhas’ beach. He hugged me, kissed my cheeks—a lively, athletic guy playing the helpless act for her. She didn’t see it, or maybe she was the old-school wife type. I carried his stuff—a backpack she’d packed—said goodbye, and promised to bring him back after her trip.
In the elevator, he eyed me up and down, then said I looked great, marriage had “filled me out.” I said it was the gym too; he grinned, calling me “hot.” I ignored it. At the car, he opened my door—gentlemanly, but as I sat in my short dress, my legs parted, and he stared right between them till I adjusted. It got me wet instantly, but I pushed the thought away—no way with my husband’s uncle. At home, I set him up in the guest room, unpacking his meds. I spotted Viagra—sly old fox, ready for action. I stashed it quick, pretending I hadn’t seen. Downstairs, my maid said he’d gone for a beach walk, not to worry. It was early, so I slipped into my tiniest bikini, tied a sarong, and went to check on him.
From above, I saw him chatting up two girls, laughing hard—typical nonsense. I laid my sarong down, sunbathed face-down, glancing at him. Exhausted, I dozed off, waking to him rubbing sunscreen on my back, down to my ass. I jolted; he apologized, saying the sun was harsh and he didn’t want to wake me. I said it was fine, sat up—his bulge in his trunks was obvious. “Damn, this old guy’s packing,” I thought, giggling. He asked why; I brushed it off. He sat beside me, and I wondered—he’s healthier than his wife, playing sick for sympathy. His legs were solid, a firm little belly, tan to envy.
We chatted; I asked about the girls. He smirked, saying it wasn’t for married women. Game on, I thought. I rubbed sunscreen on my legs, slow, sneaking looks—he couldn’t peel his eyes off. I spread them, teasing near my groin; he bolted for a dip.
His hard-on strained his trunks—I got wetter, imagining it in my mouth, but shook it off. He’s my husband’s uncle! He stayed in the water long, so I dove in, surfacing near him. As I rose, his cock was out, mid-jerk. I asked if he liked the beach; he said it was great, could get better. I played dumb, but he wanted me. I suggested leaving; he said I could go, he’d follow. I had to pay the maid, so I left, him asking if my tiny bikini and lack of jealousy from my husband didn’t bother me. Wet again, I said I worked hard for this body, and hubby didn’t care. He shook his head: “Young guys don’t appreciate the good stuff.” I shivered, dripping, tempted.
Back home, I found Maria, my 28-year-old maid—gorgeous, curvy mulatta. Once, I’d lent her a bikini for our pool; my husband drooled over her ass swallowing it. Jealous then, now I had an idea. I asked her to stay three days to help with his meds and my errands, offering extra pay. She called home—her mom and sister were fine, so she stayed. When he returned, I told him; he insisted she didn’t need to, he’d be fine alone with me. Sure, you sly dog. That night, at 10 PM, he suggested a pool dip. I invited Maria—she hesitated, but I grabbed her a bikini. He wasn’t thrilled—wanted me solo. I wore my skimpiest home bikini; he gawked. Maria’s body shone too. He blurted, “God, I’m in paradise.” We laughed. Pool lights off, he brushed against us diving. Maria teased he swam well for his age, egging him on. He told dirty jokes—I blushed, she roared. Horny, I said I’d sleep; they could stay.
I showered, crashed in a towel, woke thirsty at 1:30 AM. In panties and a top, I stumbled downstairs, forgetting them. Mid-stairs, I heard moans—then remembered. Curious, I peeked: him naked on the couch, Maria sucking his massive cock. She struggled with its size. I rubbed myself, crazy with lust. She licked nonstop; he pulled out, they kissed, his hands on her huge ass as she ground against him. He turned her, teased her pussy, then bent her over the sofa, ramming her. She moaned, begging for it all—he delivered. I came hard, watching them finish together. I crept back, jealous.
Up at 10 AM, tired and envious—he’d eyed me all day, then fucked Maria. In the kitchen, I asked about the pool—they lied, saying they’d slept soon after me. Liars. It was scorching; I suggested a beach walk. He declined, tired; I knew he wanted Maria alone. I dragged her instead—she resisted, citing lunch, but I said we’d eat out. He jumped in then, not wanting to be solo. At a quiet beach, I wore a slightly bigger bikini. He devoured me with his eyes, bulge growing. Wet again, I lay face-down; he stared at my ass. As he moved for water, I asked him to sunscreen my back. Grinning, he rubbed slow, hands trembling near my ass. I spread my legs; he knelt closer, his hard cock brushing me. I whispered about Maria—he said she’d walked off. “Anyone around?” I asked, lost in lust. “Just us,” he said. His fingers grazed my groin; I arched, shivering. “Karla, you’re delicious—if you weren’t my nephew’s wife…” I teased, “What would you do?” Maria returned, interrupting.